


Summit of Courage

by coolbreeze1



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Bugs & Insects, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 02:09:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbreeze1/pseuds/coolbreeze1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He would have screamed if he’d had the breath to. Instead he froze, his eyes locked with that of the Iratus bug’s. And then the insect leapt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summit of Courage

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to everybetty for the beta!

* * *

  
_Chapter 1_

The world was enshrouded in mystery. Well, fog, but John Sheppard liked to think it made this world more of an enigma, and a routine exploratory mission much more exciting. The gate had been situated in a narrow valley, high up in jagged, rocky mountains. A path cut through the mountains, and John had led the way, wondering who could possibly live in such terrain.

The mountains, what he could see of them anyway, were the epitome of rugged. There was hardly any vegetation, just sheer cliffs of stone jutting up and disappearing into gray overcast skies. The path weaved around rock walls and steep crevasses and it was impossible to tell if anyone had used it recently. The clouds seemed to be descending with them, swirling around the path and filling rocky gorges.

It could have been desolate. Some people might think so anyway, but it was exactly how John imagined the high mountains in Pakistan looked like at their peaks. For all he knew, maybe he was descending from this world’s version of K2—that would be something to write about.

John rounded a corner and came to sudden halt. He could hear his teammates’ feet scraping behind him on the path, and then they too stopped.

“What is it?” McKay whispered. They’d been quiet since the moment they stepped foot on the planet. Something about the fog and the low visibility, the gray light seeping through the cloud cover—it subdued everything, even sounds.

“Tree,” John replied. He stared at the gnarled branches of the small tree, wondering how the hell it had found a way to survive and grow in the rocky terrain. It looked dead now—not a single leaf on it—but it had been alive once, and lived long enough to grow its five or six feet.

“Dead tree. Why are we here again? There’s nothing here,” McKay said, giving the tree a disgruntled look.

“We’re explorers, McKay. We’re exploring. It’s what we do.”

John saw McKay roll his eyes and heard Ronon grunt behind him. He wondered what the tall man was thinking. They’d done some training on Atlantis together, but technically, this was their first real mission through the stargate. Ronon had military experience, was in excellent physical shape, and could blow the hell out of anything with that gun of his. John didn’t know him well enough to read him yet, but he had to admit, the man had style. Just what his team needed.

They kept walking. The air was deathly still and carried a damp chill. It smelled like it was going to rain, but that could be related to the fact that they were walking through a cloud.

“Reminds me of K2,” John suddenly said.

“K2? Really? You’ve climbed K2?” McKay asked.

“What’s K2?”

John threw a glance back at Ronon. “It’s a mountain on Earth.”

“A really big mountain. The second highest on the entire planet actually,” McKay chimed in.

“People call it the Savage Mountain because it’s so hard to ascend. In fact, I read somewhere that one out of every four people who reach the summit dies.”

“What is at the summit, that so many would risk their lives?” Teyla asked, her voice floating in the still air.

“There’s nothing at the summit—just the summit itself. They climb it for the challenge, just to say they’ve done it. It’s one of the hardest things you can do on Earth.”

“And you climbed this K2?” Ronon asked.

John thought he detected a hint of admiration or respect in the man’s voice, and he cringed a little at his answer. “Well, no, not exactly. Thought about trying it, though, if the Air Force would let me.”

“Sounds horrible to me,” McKay muttered. “Altitude sickness, hypoxia, nausea, rock slides, avalanches, death—not to mention the physical exertion of dragging your body up a rock just to see…more rocks.”

“It’s an accomplishment, something only a handful of people have ever done.”

“And you would like to do this someday?” Teyla asked.

John shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. Actually, when I was young, I wanted to climb Mount Kilimanjaro in Africa more than anything.”

“Is that one big?” Ronon asked.

“Highest peak in Africa,” John answered.

“That’s a continent on Earth,” McKay filled in before anyone could ask. The path had widened out a little, and John spotted a few clumps of grass. They were descending gradually but steadily and he tried to gauge how far they’d come. Coming down was easy, but they’d have to hike back up when they were ready to go home.

“When I was in high school, I read _The Snows of Kilimanjaro,_ by Hemingway,” John said, sidestepping a loose stone in the middle of the path. “I became obsessed with Africa, and everything I could find about Kilimanjaro… ‘wide as all the world, great, high, and unbelievably white in the sun.’”

The quoted words drifted off into the fog and John remembered the days spent in his local library, reading everything he could find about the distant, exotic mountain. He’d written up lists and lists of supplies and expenses and exercise routines, like he could have actually talked his father into letting him make such a trip.

“The snows of Kilimanjaro/ should I come home to the sea/ may I follow the jaguar/ climbing alone snow and high mountain/ and rest there.”

John turned around in surprise at McKay, who was staring off into the foggy wall off the path, lost in his own thoughts. “What’s that from?” he asked, hearing McKay’s words echoing again in his mind and remembering what he’d felt when he’d first read about the mountain and dreamed of ascending its peak.

“Uh, poem or something,” McKay answered. “Can’t remember where I heard it…by Maria-something.”

Ronon was watching McKay, his dark eyes sharp and bright, and John was once again struck by how little he knew the man. What was he thinking? Was he impressed by them, or did he think their ideas of high accomplishment were ridiculous, given what he’d already been through?

More clumps of grass appeared, then small trees, the leaves clinging to the small branches in desperation. The path descended steeply through a narrow ravine, and the team spread out behind John as they all carefully picked their way down. They’d been walking for over an hour now but had yet to see any signs of human existence on this world.

The bottom of the narrow ravine opened up into a wide, flat valley. At least John assumed it was a valley. The clouds were too thick to see very far. Through the fog, John could make out clusters of trees. His skin was covered in a light coat of moisture from the clouds, and he rubbed his hands together to work some warmth back into his fingertips.

A snap off to his right had him spinning at the sound, his eyes straining to see through the thick mist. He fingered his P90, not wanting to overreact but also not wanting to be caught unaware. The rest of his team had stopped and were staring into the bank of white haze.

“McKay, anything on the lifesigns detector?” he asked quietly, cringing a little at how loudly his voice seemed to carry all of a sudden.

He could hear the scientist digging through his pockets to pull out the Ancient device, cursing under his breath. John couldn’t quite make out what the man was muttering, but it sounded like it had something to do with why he hadn’t checked it right away and a probable impending death. The valley had grown motionless and quiet again, but it felt different this time, like the place was holding its breath, preparing for whatever was about to come next.

John had just turned away from the sound when he heard a soft grunt from the same direction. He glanced back just in time to catch a glimpse of something dark and furry digging at the roots of a slightly less dead-looking tree less than fifteen feet away from them. It was about the size of a dog, but its front legs were long and thin like the arms of a monkey, and its head was huge and flat and decidedly bear-like from behind.

And then the fog shifted again, obscuring his view. It was just an animal though, and not very big at that. John took a deep breath and lowered his gun, signaling the others to do the same. He turned around, taking another step down the path.

This time the growl was much louder and deeper, and coming from somewhere up ahead of him. He froze, feeling his heart thud in his chest as the first inklings of dread pumped through his veins. A patch of white fog floated across the path, and John blinked his eyes against the moisture.

Something dark and large—very large—was moving through the whiteness in front of him. He could almost hear the soft pats of feet pounding into the stone floor. The fog shifted again, and an animal appeared directly in front of him. It looked exactly like the one digging in the tree roots, only a good four or five times larger. It had been running toward the smaller animal, but it shifted its bulky weight with surprising agility and bore down straight toward John when he suddenly became visible.

Mama Bear.

“Ah, crap,” John hissed, scrambling for his weapon, but he knew there was no way he’d get it up in time.

.

.

.

“John?”

“Sheppard? Can you hear me?”

“John, please answer.”

“Colonel?”

John blinked open heavy eyes and stared at the white mist that swirled and twisted as it spoke.

“John?”

“I can climb down there.”

“What are you, nuts? We don’t know how far down it goes?”

The voice wove around the haze, and John twisted his head, trying to make sense of it.

“Sheppard?”

He recognized that voice—McKay.

“McKay?” he called out, his voice sounding much rougher than he expected. He coughed, trying to work some moisture back into his mouth.

“Oh, thank God,” the physicist mumbled from somewhere up above him.

John pushed himself up to a sitting position, feeling bruised muscles pull along his ribcage. His entire body ached, but nothing was screaming too loudly. He vaguely remembered getting head-butted by the charging animal, stumbling backward until suddenly there was no ground beneath his feet.

“You guys okay?” he called up. They didn’t answer immediately, and John felt a wave of panic.

“We are fine,” Teyla finally answered, and John let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Are you badly injured?”

John continued to sit, taking a moment to gather himself. “I’m okay,” he answered, and again heard McKay muttering something above him. He realized he must not have fallen that far. Lucky. “What happened to that animal?”

“It ran off the path after it hit you,” Ronon answered. “It’s gone now.”

John nodded, relieved, and rolled to his feet. As he pushed himself up, he grunted at a sharp stab of pain in his ankle.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Are you bleeding?” McKay’s panicked voice erupted above him.

John must have grunted more loudly than he thought. He leaned against the wall, letting his ankle hang in the air for a few seconds. It hurt, but not terribly. It couldn’t be more than a sprain.

“Must have twisted my ankle when I fell.”

“Twisted, he says. That’s ‘broken’ in Colonel-speak, by the way.”

“It’s not broken, McKay,” John snapped. He looked up the side of the rocky gorge, guessing he only had to climb about fifteen feet up. The fog was thick down here and the visibility poor, but the wall looked jagged enough to provide hand and foot holds all the way up.

“You need any help, Sheppard?” Ronon asked.

“Nope, I got it. A little mountain climbing should do the trick.” He reached up for the first handholds as he spoke and was happy to see the mist thin out and the worried faces of his team staring down at him. He’d been right on—they weren’t more than fifteen feet above him.

He stuck his foot in a small crease in the wall and stepped up. The entire side of the gorge was covered in small holes and rock outcroppings. Climbing this would be a piece of cake, hardly a fair test of his mountain climbing skills. He paused a moment to see how much weight his ankle could handle and was pleased when it held all of his weight with nothing more than an angry twinge.

He really had been lucky tumbling down this little rocky gorge. Things could have been much, much worse. Ronon stared down at him, almost smiling as John worked his way up the side, but again John couldn’t quite read the man’s expression. Teyla’s face creased in concern every time he reached for a new handhold, and McKay yelled out a litany of curses and helpful suggestions so fast John wondered if the man was going to pass out from lack of oxygen.

He was about halfway up when he heard a twittering, clicking sound just above his head. He looked up in time to see Rodney and Teyla’s eyes both go round with fear, and Ronon suddenly rip his gun out of his holster to point it directly at John’s head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something black and shiny twitching in one of the holes in the cliff wall, dark beady eyes glistening back at him. There was a flash of orange, and the distinct shape of the creature that had haunted his nightmares for over a year now.

He would have screamed if he’d had the breath to. Instead he froze, his eyes locked with that of the Iratus bug’s. And then the insect leapt.

* * *

 _Chapter 2_

 _One year earlier…_

John popped up behind the tree his team had taken cover behind, firing into the path behind them. The air vibrated with the echoing claps of bullets exploding from his P90 in quick succession. The first Wraith appeared, one of those faceless, drone warriors. It collapsed almost immediately, but two more appeared behind it, firing their stunners into the dead tree in front of John.

He fired again, forcing the Wraith to dive for their own cover, then yelled at his team. “Go tell Markham to get ready for take-off. I’ll cover you.”

Another stunner blast blew inches above his head, and he could feel static electricity dance along the tips of his hair.

“What about you?” McKay yelled, his face white with fear.

John felt a pang of regret that he’d gotten his team—his _brand-new_ team on their _very first_ official mission—into this predicament, but he pushed it aside. “I’ll be there in a minute! Go!”

He sat up again, firing another spray of bullets at the Wraith drones who were trying to move closer to them. He saw with dismay that the one he’d hit a few minutes earlier was already sitting up and raising its stunner. His team disappeared in a mad dash down the path, and he took off in the opposite direction just as the drones began firing back at him.

The forest was all thick branches and dead logs. It had to be winter on this world. There was hardly a green leaf in sight, and the dead leaves crunching under his feet seemed to echo around him, revealing his position to even the densest of trackers. He could hear footsteps behind him and knew the Wraith were following him.

Good. That would give his team a chance to get back to the jumper. He ducked behind a tree, cringing a little at the stunner blast that struck the tree next to him, then turned to fire his weapon down the path.

 _“Major, we’re cut off from the jumper.”_ Ford’s voice sounded panicked and out of breath over the radio in his ear. John peered carefully around the edge of the tree, seeing two of the Wraith creeping toward him.

“Negative. There’s one at your three o’clock. I drew the other two this way,” he yelled.

 _“They’re all around us. Where’d they come from?”_

“Lieutenant, you know how they can make you see things that aren’t there. The path in front of you is clear. Now move!”

He gave the command, and in the back of his mind wondered if Ford would do what he’d ordered. John hadn’t exactly been planning on being the senior military commander of the Atlantis expedition, and he knew some of the Marines were still having a hard time accepting him as their new CO. Ford seemed to be okay with it, but he’d just told the man to run out into the middle of a bunch of Wraith—fake Wraith, to be sure, but Ford didn’t know that. He had to trust that Sheppard, who wasn’t even there, knew what he was talking about.

He fired his gun again at the Wraith, seeing one of them go down. He hit it a few more times, satisfied when its body jerked slightly against the impact of his bullets. Hopefully, that one would stay down this time. The other one was still coming toward him, though.

“Time to move,” he muttered, pushing himself away from the tree and running as fast as his legs could carry him into the woods. Stunner blasts landed around him, the energy from each discharge radiating in the air. He heard pounding steps behind him and knew the Wraith was getting close. If he could just slow it down a little…

He turned, raising his weapon and firing at the drone warrior without stopping his forward momentum. The trees had thinned out a little in front of him, and he needed to get through this clearing to more cover.

One of his bullets hit the Wraith in the leg, and the thing stumbled and fell to the ground. John knew it wouldn’t stay down for long. He turned forward again, ducking his head a little as he pumped his legs faster. He caught a glimpse of something black and shiny hanging in the air, and he swerved to avoid it.

He missed whatever that black thing was but not the web it was hanging in. The white sticky strands enveloped him, and he flailed his arms to pull the stuff from his skin. He heard a twittering sound—a rapid, angry clicking—and turned his head as the largest damn bug he’d ever seen in his life curled its body like a scorpion and dove toward him. He caught a flash of orange underneath long, sharp pincers, and then his body exploded in pain.

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

 _Present time…_

It was the same pain as before—emanating white hot from his neck and firing down the length of his body. He could feel the long pincers digging into him, twitching and jerking as it bore down through flesh and muscles. John’s stomach coiled, and he felt bile rise up in his throat.

“Sheppard!”

Someone was screaming at him, but their voice was distant, too far away. He was lying on the ground and managed to twist to the side in time to gag and choke. Thin bands wrapped tighter around his neck, pressing against his windpipe.

 _Not again, not again. Oh please, dear God, not again._ The pain was getting worse, vibrating through him as his body shuddered and convulsed. He managed to bring one if his hands up, and he wrapped his fingers around the slick body of the Iratus bug, its soft leechy stomach sinking into his grip. The bug twittered angrily in response, digging more deeply into his neck, and John heard himself choke.

“I’m climbing down there.”

“Ronon!”

“What if there are more bugs down there?”

“We can’t just leave him there.”

“John? Can you hear me? John?”

John wanted to scream. Somehow, in the part of his mind not completely numb with panic, he thought that if he screamed, it wouldn’t hurt so much. He had his mouth open even, waiting for the sound to erupt out of him, but nothing came. He lay there, gasping for breath, and the Iratus bug squirmed under his hand, readjusting the grip of its mandibles in the veins and muscles of his neck.

The first time he’d encountered an Iratus bug, the creature had lunged at his neck and John had dropped to his knees, all thoughts of the pursuing Wraith forgotten. The woods had disappeared around him in a haze of pain, the sound of blood roaring in shock through his veins filling his senses. He hadn’t even heard the drone walk up to him, just opened his eyes wide enough to see the Wraith staring impassively down at him before turning away and running down the path, toward the jumper and the rest of his team.

He had re-lived that moment more often than he cared to admit, flying out of bed in the dead of night with a scream pressing against the back of his teeth. Sometimes he would just sit in bed and listen to his heart pound against his ribs until it finally slowed down enough for him to lay back and go to sleep again. Other times, he’d stumble out of bed with one hand gripping phantom pains in his neck, his feet all twisted up in his sheet, and he’d fall to his knees in front of the toilet and gag and choke as his stomach expelled everything he had eaten that day. Beckett was the only one who knew about the nightmares from those few times John had discreetly asked him for something to help him sleep after the really bad dreams, but even he didn’t know the full extent of it. No one did.

John could feel his heart pounding frantically in his chest, so fast it was making him lightheaded. His lungs heaved as he tried to pull in oxygen, but his stomach was churning with acid again. The fiery pain raced through him, consuming every nerve down to the tips of his toes.

“Colonel Sheppard?”

He heard the voice above him but couldn’t see anything through the haze. Actual haze, he realized. The clouds had dropped again, obscuring everything but the rocks in front of his face. He was lying on his side, and he tried to roll onto his back but failed utterly to move at all.

“Hey, Sheppard.”

The pain pulsed through him, locking up muscles. He could feel his lungs straining against his ribcage and forcing it to expand to let in precious oxygen. Did it hurt this bad last time? But then he remembered, it had hurt more than anything he had ever experienced before or since in his life.

He heard the slap of feet hitting the ground, and then saw dark leather pants kneeling in the dirt next to him. A face appeared above him, the long dreadlocks hanging from his face to stare at John in open shock. John let go of the Iratus bug wrapped around his neck and reached a shaking hand up to Ronon.

“Rrr…” he tried to call out to the man, but his voice wasn’t working right and caught in his throat. He felt a warm hand, large and dry, grab onto his and squeeze it in reassurance.

“Hang on. We’ll get you out of here.”

The bug was twittering again, moving its mandibles around in John’s neck. John closed his eyes, biting his lip against the pain that flared with the tiniest vibration. He could feel something cold racing through his body now, beneath the pain. It traveled up into his head and he groaned at the sensation. It was like someone had stuck a balloon inside his head and was now blowing it up. The pressure was relentless—his head was going to explode.

“Ronon, are you alright?” Teyla called down, her voice tight with worry.

Ronon moved around John, one hand on his shoulder to let him know he was still there. “Yeah.”

“How’s Sheppard?” McKay practically screamed.

“He’s got a bug attached to his neck. The legs are wrapped around his throat.” Ronon paused in his description, then called up in a slightly lower voice like John wouldn’t be able to hear him. “He’s in bad shape.”

 _No shit, Sherlock,_ John thought and would have said it if he’d been able to. His entire body was trembling, and the rivulets of burning ice were spreading, its tentacles wrapping around his heart and lungs, down his legs, and across his arms.

“What about other bugs? Are there other bugs?”

“I don’t see any, McKay. Did you wrap that rope I gave you around the tree?”

“What? Yes, yes, of course. What are you doing?”

“Getting Sheppard out of here.”

John had no idea what Ronon was doing, but he slowly became aware of the man’s hands over his body, rolling him back and forth. He jerked his eyes open when one hand got dangerously close to his inner thigh, and John looked up to see Ronon tying a rope into a harness around his immobile body.

“Sorry,” Ronon grunted, keeping his eyes on the knot he was tying near John’s chest. Without waiting for a reply, he stood and looked up toward the top of the gorge. “I’ve got Sheppard as secure as I can make it.”

“And we’re supposed to pull him up? He ate like three pieces of pie last night. I can’t lift that kind of weight.”

“Toss the other end of the rope down, and we can all pull him up.”

John heard more muttered curses above him, and then Ronon was kneeling in front of him and lifting him up to a sitting position. He wrapped John’s free arm around a thick rope tied around his chest and legs. His other hand was back to gripping the Iratus bug.

“This is gonna hurt like hell, Sheppard.”  


* * *

 _Chapter 3_

John blinked, not sure how long he’d been kneeling in the Autumn woods. The Wraith drone was gone, leaving him alone. The thing—whatever the hell it was—was digging into his neck, twittering and squirming against him. He could feel warm moisture dripping down his skin and burning pain reaching into his chest.

His breath stuttered in his throat. He had to get to the jumper. He had to get to his team. His right hand wrapped around the creature, fingernails scraping against the hard casing of the exoskeleton. The fire was spreading, pumping through his veins with every rapid, pounding heartbeat. He reached up for the radio in his ear with his other hand, his fingers shaking so much he wasn’t sure he could activate it.

Somehow his finger found his ear, and he pressed against the radio, but he couldn’t tell if it had turned on or not. His jaw was clenched shut, his teeth fused together. There was no way he could speak, no way he could force the words out. The pain wrapped around him, squeezing his lungs and chest, pressing like knives into his eyes and through to the back of his head.

 _“Major Sheppard, please respond.”_

He had to get up. He had to get to the jumper. The other Wraith was heading toward them. He dropped his hands to his knees, feeling the insect’s sinewy legs wrap more tightly around his neck. Something in its mouth—teeth, pincers—was digging into his skin. His stomach clenched.

 _“Major Sheppard, this is Lieutenant Ford. Do you copy? Sheppard?”_

He had to get up. He pressed against his knees, trying to force his legs to straighten but his entire body was locked up, his muscles tight and spasming. With a burst of adrenaline, John lunged upward, and stood swaying for a second, almost shocked that he’d made it to his feet.

And then the pain hit, roaring threw him like a river of molten glass. He gave a choking cry, staggered a couple of steps, then collapsed to the ground. The bug screeched, digging in deeper, and John arched his back against the throbbing pain coursing through him. His chest was heaving as his throat closed in on itself, and the world around him grew dim.

 _“Major Sheppard? Major, where are you?”_

 _“Sheppard, what the hell is going on out there?”_

“Help…” he cried out, not sure if he’d said it out loud or screamed it at his own mind, and then the darkness closed in.

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

“Try to hold onto the rope, Sheppard.”

John could just hear Ronon’s voice through the buzzing in his ears, and then something stretched taut around his ribs, squeezing the air out. He groaned in pain, battling to keep the darkness at the edges of his vision from creeping in any further.

“Pull!”

He felt the lower half of his body lift up from the ground, and then he was dangling on the side of the gorge, the rope harness digging into his legs and chest. He closed his eyes as he forced his lungs to expand, and his hand found the rope in front of him. He grabbed onto it and heard Ronon yell “pull” again, and his body jerked a little higher.

His right hand was locked around the Iratus bug, and its legs were fluttering against his skin as it struggled to maintain its position. John could feel the thing deep in his neck. The bug was screeching and twittering but he couldn’t get his fingers to relax. He groaned as his shoulder brushed up against the side of the cliff. Ronon was still yelling and pulling on the rope, and John scraped against the jagged rocks as he traveled up inch by agonizing inch.

The rope harness was tight around his legs, cutting off the circulation, and his feet were starting to go numb. That was good—numb was good. One less thing to hurt. But then he remembered the last time, how the white-hot pain had turned to numbness, how he had lost all feeling in his arms and legs, and how the feeling had crept up.

Numb—he couldn’t go numb. Not yet. Not like last time. He forced his right hand to move away from the Iratus bug, and the creature snuggled into his shoulder. His stomach churned at the sensation, and he swallowed against the bile threatening to spew out.

Ronon would not appreciate that. Not the best way to convince the man to stay on Atlantis and be a member of his team, if this hadn’t already dissuaded him. John grabbed the rope with both hands as the rope jerked again.

“Sheppard!”

He heard McKay’s voice not too far above him, but he couldn’t move or look up at him. He knew he was close, though. He was almost out of the Iratus-infected ravine. His knee caught on a sharp rock, slicing through his pants and drawing blood. He watched it, unable to look away, but he couldn’t feel it past the radiating pain in his neck.

A hand reached out, touching his shoulder, the fingertips barely brushing his coat.

“John? Give me your hand,” Teyla called down to him. He would have, if he’d been able to move his arms at all, but instead he moaned at the swaying motion of the rope and tightened his grip on the harness.

“Sheppard, come on. Help us out here,” McKay yelled, his voice high-pitched with terror. John knew that tone. Knew it only came out when they were well and truly screwed.

The rope jerked again, and then hands tightened around his arms and pulled him up and over the side and back onto the stony path. He sagged to the ground instantly, and as the ropes loosened around his legs and chest, the blood rushed in, sparking the nerves along the way.

“John,” Teyla’s soft voice whispered in his ear. He wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or not. All he could see was thick, white mist.

“He’s shaking. What the hell? Is he having a seizure?” McKay was somewhere close by, panicking.

John couldn’t answer. He could feel his body trembling and shuddering again, and he was suddenly cold. Absolutely freezing, like he’d just ran out into a winter rain storm without a coat, the wind whipping through his shirt and cutting him to the bone. He moaned, letting the darkness close in on him.

Someone was undoing the harness and pulling the ropes away from him, and a thought broke through his hazy mind, jerking him back into full consciousness.

“Rrr…Ronn’nn…” he forced the word out, his voice hoarse and breathy. Teyla was tugging at the rope around his chest, and she paused to lean closer to him.

“What?”

“Ronon?”

“Right here, Sheppard,” a low voice said behind him. He could hear the man grunting as he heaved himself up over the edge of the cliff.

“O…okkay?”

“Yep. No problem.”

John relaxed. The cold wracking through his body was having the fortunate side effect of muting the pain, and he felt his muscles begin to loosen up. He sighed, exhausted, and let his eyes slide closed.

And then that damned bug moved, twisting its mandibles inside his neck. John stiffened as a lance of pain jolted through him, blood dripping down his neck and into his t-shirt. His heart was pounding again, and he wondered how much more of this he could actually take.

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

His team found him. He wasn’t sure how exactly, but one second he’d been lying face down in the dirt and the next second he opened his eyes to see Ford staring down at him. The young lieutenant’s face was stricken with either fear or shock, or some combination of both, and he was reaching a hand out toward the bug almost tentatively.

The bug. John gasped, remembering the creature. He could still feel it against his neck. Ford jerked his hand back at the sound, and peered down at John.

“Sir? What…um…”

“Ford…” John breathed out, surprised and immensely relieved he wasn’t alone with this thing burrowing into him anymore.

“What happened?”

“What the hell do you think happened, Ford? He got bit by the biggest damn mutant mosquito you’ve ever seen in your life,” McKay’s voice rang out, loud and clear and to hell with the Wraith who might still be looking for them. “I saw this in a bad movie once. A really, really bad movie—the entire town was overrun by genetically altered, mutant insects. It did not end well for them.”

“McKay! Can it!” Ford snapped out.

“Better not…be…your idea of…a pep talk…” Sheppard ground out. The pain was finally abating a little, enough for his jaw to start working again. “Really… sucks…”

“Well, excuse me, King of the Football Team. I skipped all the pep rallies in high school because I was too busy building my very own laser spectrometer.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Captain of the football team, not king.”

“Probably building…an atomic…bomb too.”

McKay didn’t respond, and John wondered briefly how close to the truth his statement had actually been.

“Can you walk, sir?”

“Not sure…lieutenant…Wraith…where?”

“Don’t know, sir. We haven’t seen any since we found you. McKay, give me a hand.”

John felt Ford grab one arm and McKay the other, and together they lifted him up to a sitting position. He grunted in pain as the bug squirmed and chittered, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been before. A few seconds later, his teammates had him up on his feet, albeit his legs were shaking and felt like rubber.

“How far?” he asked.

“Not far, sir. Just around the trees over there.”

John didn’t have the energy to actually look, but he trusted Ford when the man said it wasn’t far. He took a few, haltering steps forward, leaning heavily on the two men on either side of them.

The crunch of leaves signaled someone was heading toward them, and John jerked in a panic, reaching for the P90 still hanging from the clip on his vest. He looked up through slitted eyes, expecting to see the gray, corpse-like skin of a Wraith drone, but Teyla suddenly appeared, her hair and skin dark and warm and full of life.

“Major? What has happened?”

“Mutant mosquito,” McKay said before anyone could stop him.

John knew it must look pretty bad. Teyla looked at him in horror, her eyes darting to the thing hanging from his neck. They took a few mores steps before John’s legs folded beneath him.

“Sir!”

“Sorry,” he breathed out.

“It’s okay, sir. We’ll get you out of here.”

“Get this…thing…off…me.”

“That sounds like a great idea, Major. Any ideas?” McKay asked.

“Knife, gun, grenade, C4…”

“Is that all you soldier people ever think of?”

“Sometimes…football,” John quipped breathlessly, as Ford and McKay lowered him to the ground to lean against a hill. He wasn’t quite flat on his back, but he was feeling about as helpless and vulnerable as he had ever been.

“And girls,” Ford added.

“Ferris wheels,” John said with a wink, getting a grin from Ford and an eye roll from McKay.

“What should we try first?” Teyla asked.

“I vote not C4 or grenade,” the physicist snapped. He scooted back a little as Ford pulled out his knife.

“McKay, hold the major still. I’m going to try and cut into it. Teyla, grab his legs.”

The others nodded and Ford moved closer.

“Ready, sir?”

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

John opened his eyes slowly, seeing nothing but gray overlapping shades of gray. He blinked, not sure what he was looking at. Something had happened. There’d been an animal, a baby animal…then mama bear had come charging at him out of the fog.

He took a tentative breath, not wanting to breath too deeply. His entire body ached, like he had a bad case of the flu. He remembered mama bear, then rocks. Lots of fog. The ravine—he’d fallen into that little, rocky ravine and he was climbing out when…when…

John jerked, sitting half up with a scream and reaching for his neck. A dream, it was a dream, it had to be a dream. In the split second it took for his hand to travel the two-feet distance, his mind screamed at him— _Not real!_

But then his hand brushed up against the hard shell of the Iratus bug, and he felt the soft gel-like underbelly sink beneath his fingertips. Pain erupted anew at his sudden flailing, and he stiffened, collapsing back to the ground against hard stone.

“No, not…this is not…bug…get it…not real…not again…not…”

“Sheppard! Sheppard, calm down! Sheppard!”

McKay’s voice mixed in with his own screams, and John felt hands grabbing at his arms and legs, pinning him down to the ground. He bucked against the pressure. The Iratus bug was screeching in its own panic, its legs fluttering around his throat, its face digging into the skin. He felt a fresh rivulet of blood well up out of the wound and run down his neck.

“John, please. Please, you must calm down.”

Teyla’s voice was only marginally calmer than McKay’s, but John’s flailing weakened, more out of a lack of energy than anything else. He continued to squirm, his chest heaving. Spots danced in front of his eyes, and he groaned in agony when someone pulled his hand away the body of the insect.

“That is it, John. Slow, deep breaths.”

John shook his head. _Calm down?_ He did not want to _calm down._ He wanted this damn bug to get the fuck off of him—

“John,” Teyla called out again, her voice tense. “Please, John, you must stay calm. Breathe.”

“Sheppard,” Ronon called out, his voice low and gravelly. He sounded angry, tense—John wasn’t sure—but he felt a hand pat his leg.

“That is it, John,” Teyla murmured.

He opened his eyes to see her staring down at him, the muscles in her face etched with tension. She brushed a hand through his hair slowly, rhythmically, and kept talking to him in that calm, measured tone.

John’s heart began to descend from its terror-induced hysteria. He could feel every rib expand, forcing themselves out against taut muscles. The bug had stopped chittering, but its mandibles twitched inside the muscles of his neck, clamping down even harder than before, and John whimpered at the pain that rushed from his neck down the length of his body.

“Shhh…”

Teyla kept brushing her fingers through his hair, and John realized she had his hand in one of hers. Someone else was holding his other hand, but he couldn’t turn his head—didn’t want that bug to move anymore than it already was. It had to be McKay, or maybe Ronon. Didn’t matter. Normally, he would have been cringing at the close contact, but this situation was far from normal. If he could just keep himself from screaming hysterically…

He looked back up at Teyla. The burst of adrenaline he’d felt a few moments before drained the last of his energy reserves, and he felt his body sinking into the stony ground.

“Can’t,” he whispered, looking up at Teyla. She winced, maybe at the open, undisguised look of raw pain and terror he couldn’t even hide from himself, let alone anyone else.

“Try not to move,” she answered, but John shook his head, sucking in a gasp when the Iratus bug moved with him.

“Not again…can’t do it…again…”

Teyla’s eyes looked bright, and the hands on his other arm and his leg tightened their grips.

“Don’t worry, Sheppard,” McKay suddenly spoke up, and his voice sounded almost subdued. “We’ll get it off.”

“I’ll go back to the gate, call for help,” Ronon said, and John saw Teyla look back at him and nod her head. A second later, the warm hand on his leg disappeared and cold air rushed in to take its place.

John lay there, letting Teyla run her fingers across his forehead. He could see her lips moving but he couldn’t quite muster the energy to understand what she was saying and respond. The sounds around him took on a muffled, echoing quality, like he’d just stuck his head into a box. He was vaguely aware of McKay and Teyla talking over him, maybe to him.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there, waiting for Ronon. It couldn’t have been too long, but all of a sudden, John noticed Teyla sitting up a little taller, her hand reaching for her radio earpiece. He wondered what she was hearing, then wondered why he wasn’t hearing it also. He must have lost his radio at some point.

“What?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Teyla looked down at him, placing a hand on his chest to silence him. “Ronon, this is Teyla. Please come in.”

She tilted her head, listening, then spoke. “Ronon, the Wraith are here.”

“What?” McKay squawked.

“I can sense them. They arrived suddenly, perhaps at the gate. Do not go to the stargate, Ronon.”

She paused again, her head bowed down in concentration, and then she relaxed a fraction.

“Ronon?” John asked.

“He is fine. He is taking cover, but we need to move as well. If the Wraith move down this path they will see us. Rodney?”

“Right, right, yeah. Okay.”

Together, Teyla and Rodney dug their hands in behind John’s back and lifted him to a sitting position. John hissed out in pain, resisting the urge to grab at the bug. He felt one of the insect’s legs tighten for a second around his neck, and then it relaxed again.

“Can you walk, John?”

“Not sure,” he answered. He felt lightheaded and a little dizzy. He was almost positive he couldn’t walk, but he had to try. If the Wraith were coming…

“Are you ready, Rodney?” Teyla asked as she pulled one of John’s arm over her shoulders.

“Uh…yeah, ready,” he answered, grabbing John’s other arm. They lifted him again, and John managed almost two full seconds before his legs began to fold under his weight. Sweat broke out across his forehead, and the dormant pain reawakened across his entire body.

“This way,” Teyla said, sounding strained.

They moved off the path into a forest of dead trees and stones. John’s legs stumbled and dragged behind him as they moved, and he bit his tongue to hold back the sob desperate to flow out of him. He managed to keep it to a quiet moan that dissipated into the white, cloudy mist all around them.

* * *

 _Chapter 4_

Ford’s knife didn’t work. Teyla’s Athosian lighter didn’t work. Pulling didn’t work. Everything they tried to do to get the insect creature off of him only made the thing hold on tighter.

“You ready, sir?” Ford asked, pulling his 9-mil out.

John nodded, eyeing the gun and the way it was trembling slightly in Ford’s tight grip.

“Here we go.”

He could hear McKay scrambling out of the way on the other side of him. Ford brought the gun down slowly and pressed the muzzle up against the soft orange underbelly of the creature. He tilted the barrel up a little, took a deep breath, then squeezed the trigger.

The shot was deafening, but John hardly noticed it over the screaming pain that burst in his neck, traveling along nerve impulses with explosive speed. His back arched and he pressed his head into the dead leaves behind him. The bug was jerking and convulsing against him.

 _Dead. It had to be dead. Nothing could survive that._

But it was still moving, and not the death throes type of movement either. John could feel the thing getting stronger, digging more deeply into him. Something was pulsing through his blood too, like fire and glass, scraping across him in waves. His chest was heaving, almost of its own volition, but he could feel it getting harder to expand, slowing down, stopping.

He was going to die. This damn bug was going to kill him—horribly, painfully, suffocatingly. Black dots danced across his vision, and he opened his mouth to breathe, but his entire body was locked up in one agonizing fireball of pain and nothing happened. Voices shouted above him, but even they were growing dimmer.

John floated, seeing but not seeing, when the world suddenly went dark. _I’m dead,_ he thought, but the darkness wasn’t complete, and shapes began to take form and the voices were still yelling. The ceiling of the jumper finally came into view, and then hands pressed against his still chest—angry hands, frantically pushing and pumping and screaming.

He gasped, and his lungs expanded instinctively. Someone was yelling at him to breathe, and he did, choking on the oxygen that suddenly filled his senses. Someone lifted him up, then set him back against the rear hatch of the jumper, and he took another deep breath, and then another.

The jumper took shape around him, and in it, his team plus Markham and Stackhouse at the front. Teyla and Ford were kneeling on either side of him, and McKay was digging through a bag in front of him. Someone yelled at Markham to take off. Someone else was yelling about the Wraith, and then John felt the jumper lift into the air.

The creature was still attached to his neck, its mandibles sharp in his flesh. He gagged, willing his stomach to unclench, and took another deep breath. The jumper rocked and bucked like it had hit a sudden downdraft or strong wind current.

“We’re taking fire,” John yelled out, surprised at how strong his voice sounded. The ship shuddered, and he felt his body flail against the hatch.

“Let’s get some altitude!”

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

John must have fallen unconscious running through the dead, misty woods between Teyla and McKay, but he didn’t remember doing so. He opened his eyes to air that was thick and muggy. And cold. So damn cold. He could see gray light off to his left, but everything else was dark.

He turned his head, groaning at how stiff his neck had become. The Iratus bug was still there, but it had stopped moving. He remembered this part—after all the squirming and digging, the first bug had finally found whatever position it had been looking for and settled in against his body.

John sucked in a ragged breath. This one had done the same thing. It was nestled against his neck, its legs wrapped around his throat, the bulk of his body resting against his chest. He could feel the thing breathing, its soft belly slowly expanding then deflating then expanding again, its tail curled under his armpit.

The pain was abating. He felt a little like he’d been out in the cold long enough for his skin to go numb, and now he was inside somewhere warm. Everything felt warm—almost burning—and kind of swollen, but it wasn’t nearly the all-consuming agony that it had been.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and he saw Teyla crawl toward him. McKay was behind her, heading for the gray light with his P90 in front of him. He looked around again, trying to focus on their surroundings. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he could just make out gray stone walls. They were in some kind of shallow cave.

“Teyla?”

Teyla immediately placed a finger over his lips and glanced at the cave’s entrance. She shook her head at John, begging him with her eyes to be quiet. He nodded his head, letting her know he understood.

They stayed in that position for awhile, and John strained to hear the slightest clue that would explain what was going on. Now that the pain had died down, his head felt a little clearer. Terror gnawed at him, but he forced it down. Something else was going on—something that involved all of them.

A twig broke outside, and John saw both Teyla and McKay duck down a little. The safety was off on both their guns, and John suddenly felt naked without his. He reached down for the 9-mil strapped to his thigh, but Teyla grabbed his hand, stilling it.

Another twig snapped, this one sounding a little farther than the first. McKay sat up, tentatively peering outside before jerking his head back into the cave. He turned to John and Teyla with wide eyes and brought a finger to his lips.

John swallowed, his Adam’s apple brushing against one of the Iratus bug legs, and he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through open lips as quietly as he could manage. He could hear the soft rustling of someone moving around outside.

A few moments later, the sounds disappeared completely. McKay pulled out the Ancient life-signs detector and breathed a sigh of relief, sagging against the cave wall. Teyla released her death grip on John’s hand and sat down next to him.

“What’s going on?” John whispered.

“Wraith,” Teyla answered. “They arrived through the stargate a few moments before Ronon reached it.”

“Is Ronon—”

“He is fine, John. I was able to sense the Wraith and warn him. He has taken cover.”

John nodded, relieved. He didn’t think he could handle letting Ronon get caught by the Wraith again just weeks after the man had finally escaped his life as a runner. He found himself wondering again what the Satedan was thinking. This mission was supposed to be easy, to show their newest team member that they could explore the galaxy without it always being a life or death situation. Would Ronon want to stay after this? John was completely incapacitated, barely holding onto his own sanity with this thing sucking the life out of him. So much for being the easy-going, strong leader with everything under control.

He took another deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He really needed to stop thinking. If he could live in a black vacuum for the next hour or so, he just might survive this ordeal with his dignity intact. He felt something prodding his lips, and he opened eyes he hadn’t realized had slid shut to find Teyla holding a canteen.

“Would you like some water?”

“Yeah.”

She tilted the canteen and held his head steady as he swallowed. He was suddenly dying of thirst, and he drank greedily, grunting when she pulled it away far too soon.

“Is the paralysis setting in?”

John winced, catching McKay’s sharp look at Teyla’s question. He flexed his fingers and toes, feeling a tingling sensation in his feet.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Not too bad yet. Pain’s starting to go away, but it’s just my feet so far that are going numb.”

“Good, that’s good,” McKay mumbled. John looked over at the physicist, but the man turned away, unable or unwilling to maintain eye contact.

“Where are the Wraith?” he asked.

“Heading down the mountain, away from the gate,” McKay answered, his focus on the world outside of the cave.

“What about Ronon? Has he called? Maybe we should try to find him.”

“Ronon will find us when it is safe,” Teyla answered. She pressed her hand against John’s shoulder. “Rest, John. We can do nothing but wait for the moment.”

John nodded, then flinched when the Iratus bug twitched and readjusted its position. The fear that he’d managed to push away suddenly rose up within him, and he reached a hand up to pull on it before he realized what he was doing. The bug chittered angrily and tightened its grip, and John groaned from the spark of pain that caused.

“John!” Teyla grabbed onto his hand and managed to ease his fingers away from the bug. “You must not do that. It will only make things worse.”

John could feel perspiration break out on his upper lip, and his body began to tremble, minutely at first but then with growing intensity.

“John? What is wrong?”

“Get it off,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and ragged. “Please, God, get it off. Get this thing off…”

“We will get it off. Look at me, John,” Teyla said, grabbing his face with both of her hands and staring into his eyes. “We will get it off, but you need to calm down.”

“Teyla,” John choked out. “I can’t...not again. Last time, it…it was…”

“Last time, you survived, and you will survive again. I know that it was a terrible experience, but we will get you through this. Do you understand? We will get you through this.”

John nodded, but his chest was heaving and his heart was pounding so hard against his ribs that it hurt. He could feel beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his face.

“Cc-cold…” he stuttered out.

Teyla pressed a hand to his forehead, and John reveled in the momentary warmth, but when she pulled it away, he felt colder than ever and his body shuddered against the damp, misty air.

He felt Teyla lifting him, and then he was leaning back against her warm body, her arms wrapped around his chest and rubbing heat back into the skin. She shushed him, rocking slightly like she was trying to soothe a young child back to sleep, and her breath blew into his hair, tickling his scalp.

McKay had moved forward, setting his gun to the side, and he shrugged out of his coat to drape it over John’s body.

“Hang on, Sheppard. Just hang on.”

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

The back of his head was throbbing, and he knew it was a new ache on top of the one emanating from his neck. John blinked open his eyes slowly, resisting the urge to moan. This was one hell of a crappy day.

He could still feel the jumper floor underneath him, and he wondered what was taking Beckett so long. Maybe they had to quarantine the jumper bay because of the insect—that must be it. Any second now, the rear hatch would fall open, and John would be flat on his back.

He turned his head, wincing slightly, and saw Teyla kneeling nearby, digging through the woefully inadequate first aid kit she’d grabbed from the front. The ship was utterly still. Had they landed already? Something felt off, but John couldn’t quite place it.

The creature in his neck had finally stopped squirming around, which was marginally reassuring. The whole situation was creepy enough that he was better off not thinking too much about the gigantic bug digging into him. He could feel its stomach pulsing against his chest and he wondered what it was doing. Was it sucking his blood? Somehow feeding off of him?

Teyla continued to dig through the first aid kit, and John tried to lift a hand to get her attention but found his arms were heavy as stone. They barely twitched at his mental command. His heart started to pound in his chest, but he forced himself to take a deep breath.

“Hi, Teyla,” he called out.

Teyla jerked up at the sound of his voice and dropped the bandage she’d picked up. She walked over and squatted down next to him, staring at the bug with a mixture of disgust and fascination.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Teyla blinked in surprise, then nodded her head. “I am fine.”

John nodded, but something still felt wrong. Something had happened. He leaned back against the rear hatch and felt the floor press into the newly formed bruise on the back of his head. How had he hit his head anyway? He didn’t remember that.

Ford and McKay were standing near the front, but neither one of them was talking. Things were too quiet. The last thing he remembered was taking off from the planet, the Wraith firing at their ship until it jolted and shook, approaching the gate…everyone was yelling, panicking, the bug was squirming around inside of him…

He remembered begging McKay to do something—anything—to get that thing off of him, but they’d been seconds from the gate. McKay had told him to hold on, that they were almost home.

“Something tells me we haven’t made it to Atlantis yet.”

“No,” Teyla answered and he could hear something in her voice, a tone he couldn’t quite understand.

McKay and Ford looked back at him, and John blinked against the bright blue light behind them. His headache had moved behind his eyes and it was starting to throb.

“Ford?”

Ford moved forward and sat down beside him. As John looked past him, he saw the source of the light, but for a second his mind couldn’t quite grasp what he was seeing. It looked just like…

“What is that?” he asked, but he was already filling in the blanks. They’d been in the jumper, approaching the gate, seconds from home, and then…

“We’re stuck, sir,” the young lieutenant answered.

“What?”

“In the gate.”

“You mean, my day just got worse.”

McKay moved toward them and sat down on the bench. “We’re going with the assumption that it was one or both of the drive pods. I don’t know whether it was mechanical failure or…”

“…it was damaged as we tried to take off,” Ford finished.

They were stuck in the gate? Had that ever happened before? Of all the days to get stuck in the stargate. Someone really hated John Sheppard in the Pegasus Galaxy.

“There’s no way of knowing, really, but…uh…if you know of some way of manually retracting the mechanism…”

John stared at the event horizon. It shimmered back at him as if taunting him. They were so close to getting home. So close to getting this damned insect out of his neck.

“Cockpit, on the left,” he muttered, the information coming out automatically as he stared at the wormhole in front of him. So close.

“The cockpit is regrettably de-molecularized at the moment, but how about somewhere back here?”

John dragged his eyes away from the shimmering blue puddle to look at the physicist. McKay looked both terrified and resigned, and that couldn’t be a good combination. What had he asked him? Something about cockpit controls back here?

“No.”

“No. I didn’t think so. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be a foot and half over there taking some readings. He stood up, his silhouette looking stooped against the bright background. “Feel free to talk amongst yourselves.”

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

The sky was a brilliant blue. John stared up at the mountain, squinting against the bright reflection of the sun. The gray slab of rock had taken on a silvery color that glittered in the light. The air was cool, but the sun felt warm against his back. A gust of wind whipped up a twisting tail of snow from the peak that disappeared into the blue sky.

It was beckoning him. The wind blew again, whistling as it came down the mountain and John could almost hear his name. His heart beat in time with the mountain’s, strong and solid, the summit not nearly as far away as he’d been led to believe. He could be there by mid-afternoon, easily. The cliff walls were jagged enough he could free climb up the side, digging his hands into the stone, pulling his body up the edge with only his own power. His own strength. He could conquer the summit.

“John,” the summit called to him, a sweet siren sound echoing softly.

“…Sheppard?”

John reached his hand out, touching the distant peak with the tip of his finger. The snow blew and curled around it.

“He’s asleep for now.”

“Any sign of the Wraith?”

“No. Thanks for the warning by the way. I would have run right into them.”

“Of course.”

“How’d you know, anyway?”

John blinked, and the blue skies turned to dark gray, the snow rumbling toward him and washing out all color. He sighed, and the last images of his dream floated away. It had been a nice dream. All blue and warm.

“Sheppard?” McKay suddenly loomed in front of him, and John pushed his head back in surprise. “He’s awake.”

“What?” John asked. His mouth was dry, but when he cleared his throat, his breath caught in his chest, sending him into a coughing fit.

“John?” Teyla asked, and she was suddenly on his other side, lifting him up to a sitting position and helping him drink water from a canteen.

The last thing he remembered was leaning back against her, but that seemed to have been awhile ago. She pulled the water away, and John took a couple of deep breaths, testing his lungs. He wasn’t nearly as cold as he remembered being. He wasn’t warm either, but at least he wasn’t cold.

Actually, he wasn’t feeling much of anything. Teyla leaned him back, supporting his head the final few inches as John slumped against the backpacks they’d piled up to support him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. She seemed calm, but John could see the tension in the muscles around her eyes. She was worried—more worried than he’d seen her in a long time.

“…mmm…okay,” he mumbled. And he was. He didn’t hurt at all anymore. He shivered at the memory of the pain that had consumed him earlier.

“Are you cold?”

“No, not really. Don’t really feel anything, actually.”

Including the Iratus bug in his neck. It wasn’t until he glanced down and caught the pulsing orange of the stomach that he remembered the thing was still there, attached to him. He wanted to poke it, like a kid poking a strange animal with a stick, but when he tried to lift his hand, nothing moved.

John frowned. He could feel his arms—they were numb and tingly, to be sure, but he could still feel them. He tried again, first one arm, then the other, but to no avail. He tried wigging his fingers, but his hands lay limp and lifeless in the dirt at his sides.

 _It incapacitates first with pain, then paralysis._ He remembered Beckett saying that, remembered how it had filled him with dread at the time. Paralyzed. Even if he lived, paralysis would kill him. And where would it stop? Just his arms and legs? Or would it keep going, up his chest to his lungs and heart and brain?

John swallowed, and he had to force the moisture down his throat. Was his neck already paralyzed? He let out a harsh breath, a cloud of moisture puffing out of him in the cold air. He had to get out of here. He had to get up and run and get to the gate and get this damned Iratus bug off of his neck before he never moved again.

“John?” Teyla was kneeling next to him and looking at him in concern, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Ronon was at his feet, and McKay still squatted near the mouth of the cave. He hadn’t noticed that Ronon had returned, but now he vaguely recalled the former runner asking Teyla how she’d known about the Wraith when he had first woken up.

Move—he had to move. There were Wraith and Iratus bugs and overprotective, charging animals. They had to get out of here. He tried again, focusing all of his attention on one of his hands. He was rewarded by a twitch of the finger, and then his hand slowly curled into a fist.

“Moved my hand,” he said breathlessly, relief draining whatever energy he’d gained from his nap. He leaned his head against the backpacks. He could still move his hands. If he had to fire a weapon, he could still pull the trigger.

Teyla picked up one of his hands, the limb a dead weight in her arms. John tried to help her, but she was moving too fast and in a direction he couldn’t predict. She rested his fingers on her palm.

“Can you move your fingers?”

John nodded. He could. He’d just done it. He stared at the fingers on Teyla’s hand and thought of the individual muscles in his hand contracting. A second later, three of his fingers brushed lightly against her palm. They repeated the same test on his other hand, with the same result. Ronon watched the entire process without a word, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Can you move your legs?” Teyla asked, setting his hand back in his lap.

John stared at his feet. He’d been purposefully avoiding thinking about his feet and legs, but he tried anyway, for Teyla’s sake. He stared at his feet and they felt distant and far way like they belonged to someone else.

“John, what is it?”

John looked up and saw that Teyla wasn’t looking at his legs. She was staring at his face, and her mouth was twisted in apprehension. Ronon rested a hand on one of John’s legs and waited for his answer. Even McKay was leaning away from the cave entrance to look at him.

“Are they numb?” Teyla persisted.

John shook his head. “No, not just numb. I can’t feel them at all. I can’t feel anything below my waist.” Paralyzed—he was paralyzed. “I-I can’t move.”

Ronon gripped the leg harder. John could tell by the way the man’s knuckles turned white. He seemed to realize John couldn’t feel his hand, because he suddenly jerked it away and looked up at John with guilt.

McKay stared at his legs like he was watching some kind of train wreck—his mouth hanging open, his eyes wide and scared, his skin pale. John could feel Teyla’s hand on his shoulder, and she was shaking, and he fought the urge to snap at them all. He wanted to curl up in a dark corner, out of everyone’s sight. But, oh yeah, he couldn’t _move._

He felt his stomach twist into knots, and the acid churned. He wanted the pain back—he wanted to feel every nerve along every inch of his entire body. He turned his head away from his team, the only thing he could still move easily, and closed his eyes. The Iratus bug nuzzled into his neck, purring, and John choked back the bile that suddenly surged up his constricted throat.

* * *

 _Chapter 5_

 _“Can you describe it to me?”_ Beckett’s voice floated over the radio calm and confidant, sounding like this was something he faced everyday.

“Yes, sir,” Ford answered, kneeling next to John on the floor of the jumper. “It’s about two feet in length, including the tail. That’s wrapped down under his armpit. It’s got two sharp, spiny things in his neck near the major’s carotid artery.”

John swallowed. Having Ford describe in detail the thing attached to him was not helping matters. He could feel his heart pounding sluggishly. The pins-and-needles sensation had spread throughout his entire body.

 _“I’ll need more than that, son.”_

Of course he would. John grimaced, trying to tune out Ford’s description, but it was impossible. The man was right there, leaning over him as he studied the creature, and speaking just inches from John’s ear. At least it didn’t hurt as much as before.

“It’s got four legs—I guess you’d call them that. They’re wrapped around the major’s throat. I can’t see any eyes. It’s got a real hard shell, but there’s a soft leechy part underneath.”

John could feel that soft leechy part. It kept pressing against his skin every time it breathed or whatever it was doing.

 _“Major, what were your physical symptoms?”_

John swallowed, working some moisture back into his mouth. “Well, first if felt like a knife in the eye. Since then, I’ve lost all the feelings in my extremities. Can’t move.”

He felt the eyes of his team jerk toward him, jarred by the information. He knew they were freaking out, but he had to stay calm. He hadn’t wanted them to know about the paralysis, but if it helped Beckett get this thing off of him, then so be it.

 _“So it incapacitates first with pain, then paralysis.”_

John just managed to hold back a wince. Paralysis. He could do with not thinking about paralysis. “I need to be able to move around to help McKay with the mechanical problem. Markham and Stackhouse are dead if I don’t.”

 _“What have you tried?”_

“I tried to cut it off. I tried to burn it off. I even tried to shoot it off,” Ford answered. He tapped his weapon with his hand. “9-mil, point blank. Not much worse I can do without killing the major along with it.”

What Ford didn’t say was that the 9-mil had almost killed him already. John shivered, remembering the deafening explosion in his ear and the pain that had coursed through him instantly.

They were talking about the Wraith and how the creature on his neck might be related to it, but John could hardly keep up with them. He heard the gunshot again in his mind, felt the pain that had danced across his nerves like electricity. The insect had jerked and convulsed against him, but it hadn’t died. Instead, John’s body had locked up, his chest slowly growing still. He remembered clearly thinking he was going to die even as he stared at lungs and ribs that were no longer making any effort to pull in oxygen.

And then he’d been in the jumper, and someone—Ford? Teyla?—had pumped his chest. CPR maybe? he thought. Or maybe just frantic pounding. He’d been dead, or almost dead—dying. By some miracle, his lungs had finally expanded, giving him one more chance at life.

“Listen, Doc. The major’s getting worse. We’ve got to do something right now.”

John drew in a shaky breath, forcing the memories to the back of his mind. He had to focus on the here and now. If they could get this bug off of him, he could help. He could get them out of this mess.

Ford and Beckett were still talking, and then Teyla was there, pulling items out of the first aid kit. Ford listed them off, and John watched with growing trepidation as his team prepared to experiment haphazardly on the creature attached to his neck in the back of a jumper stuck in the stargate.

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

“The Wraith have moved far down the mountain,” Teyla said. John looked over at his team, congregating near the mouth of the cave. They’d moved away to give him some space after he’d admitted to feeling nothing below his waist. “I can hardly sense their presence.”

“We should move now,” Ronon said.

“How?” McKay whispered, but John still heard him, and he glared at the look McKay darted at him and his legs.

Ronon looked up and saw John was watching them. “Sheppard, we need to move to the gate before the Wraith come back.”

The man was staring at him, his green eyes intent and alive with danger. He did not look at John’s legs—didn’t even seem to be thinking about the fact that John could not walk or move under his own power. For that, John was grateful.

“You’re right,” John said, and Ronon nodded. Before John could say anything else, the others were slipping their coats back on and preparing to move. Ronon crawled forward and lifted john upright by the armpits while Teyla grabbed the backpacks he’d been leaning against.

“Hey!” John stuttered at the sudden close contact, but he was powerless to do anything to stop them.

“Don’t worry, Sheppard. I’ll get you to the gate,” Ronon said.

John had a bad idea about what that meant, and a second later, he let out a disgruntled moan as Ronon pulled him over his body and stood up. John’s arms and legs dangled—he couldn’t even lift his head enough to ease any of the pressure from the rush of blood.

The Iratus bug was equally disgruntled, twittering and fluttering against John’s neck as Ronon ran out of the cave and back up the mountain path.

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

“We’re starting with iodine.” Ford held the bottle of brown liquid up in the air between two fingers, eyeing it a second before turning it upside down. He used his thumb to plug the hole until the bottle was directly over the bug’s body. Out of the corner of his eye, John watched a few drops drip down and splash against the soft orange belly of the insect. The bug twitched a few times, chittering against John’s neck, then settled back against his chest.

“Scratch iodine.”

 _“What else have you got there?”_ Beckett asked.

“Yes, what have you got there? Any food?” McKay suddenly called out, turning away from the circuit board he’d been focusing on.

“You’re kidding,” Ford said, staring at the man in disbelief.

“I have less than twenty minutes to save our lives, and I am teetering on the brink of a hypoglycemic reaction, so…”

Ford rolled his eyes, tossing McKay a powerbar from the pile of stuff in front of him. John could feel Teyla glaring at the physicist as he thanked Ford for the food. _They still have a few things to work out,_ John thought. _They can be a good team, though._ We _can still be a good team._

Ford turned his attention back to John. “We’re going to try alcohol now.”

 _“Place a few drops on the soft tissue to see how it reacts.”_ Beckett’s voice sounded as calm as ever.

“Save some for me,” John whispered, wishing he could feel as composed as Beckett sounded.

“Wrong type of alcohol, sir.”

John tensed, seeing the drops hit the bug, but the creature didn’t react at all. “What’s the good of that?”

Ford sighed, tossing the alcohol bottle back into the bag. “Not much, sir.” He tapped his radio. “No reaction to alcohol.”

 _“Right,”_ Beckett answered with a sigh of his own. _“What next?”_

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

John’s head bounced against Ronon’s back, jarring the Iratus bug with every pounding step. The bug was freaking out completely, and was back to trying to subdue John with pain. It had started as a slow burn in his neck, disappearing into his chest and stomach and the complete loss of feeling in his legs. John had tried to grab onto the bug to hold it steadily against his neck, but his arms had refused to move, and they swung lifelessly in time with Ronon’s steady pace.

Within minutes, feeling but not control of movement had returned to his extremities. Every beat of his heart spread the fireball of pain farther, sending daggers racing through his veins. Blood was flowing down his neck again too, and his shirt was soaked through with perspiration.

John had never really wanted to know what if felt like to be burned alive, but he figured that this had to be pretty close. His body felt like it had swollen to three times larger than normal. Every hammering step crushed his lungs and squeezed his heart in a vise so tight he was almost waiting for it to just give up and stop.

The worst pain, however, was in his head. The blood had instantly rushed to his brain as soon as Ronon had slung him over his shoulder. He could feel the veins in his jaw and forehead pulsing, and he closed his eyes at the pressure. Moisture dripped across his face and into his hair, and he wasn’t sure if it was sweat or if blood was actually breaking through the pores in his skin.

He couldn’t talk, either. Ronon kept running up the path, and John’s head slammed into his back step after jarring step. His voice caught in his throat, and with it any hope he had of crying out. He wasn’t even sure he was drawing in oxygen. His ears filled with a rushing, roaring sound, and he wished the numbness would return.

“Sheppard? Sheppard, come on. Look at me. Talk to me, Sheppard.”

John slowly became aware of Ronon’s face bending over his, yelling at him. He could hear the words, but putting them together into a coherent sentence was too much effort.

They had stopped running, finally. John could feel rough, stony ground digging into his back, and he looked up to see the washed-out white fog descending around them. It was thicker than he remembered, almost completely obscuring the rocks just a few feet to his side.

His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and again he wondered if he was breathing. One of Ronon’s hands was on his chest, the other behind his neck, holding his head up. John could just feel them beneath the burning fire pummeling every nerve.

“How is he? What’s happening?” McKay huffed, out of breath from running. His voice sounded eerie and distant, and John wondered idly where he was. All he could see was white.

And dreadlocks framing a panicked-looking Ronon. The pain was so constant, so all-consuming that John had moved from wishing he could just curl up and die to hardly noticing it. The nerves were either over-stimulated, or the Iratus bug was pumping its paralytic toxin into him. John didn’t know. In fact, he didn’t really care.

He stared straight ahead because that was the direction his head was pointing. Ronon disappeared, replaced a second later by Teyla, who grabbed his face in both of her hands.

“John?”

John blinked at her. He tried to talk, but he wasn’t sure if his mouth opened or not. The fog was swirling around in the air, carried by currents he could not feel. The Iratus bug was screeching and moving around, its long, sharp mandibles digging into his neck, but the shoots of pain hardly made him flinch.

Teyla brushed her hand across his forehead, and he felt beads of sweat dripping back into his hair. His entire body was shaking uncontrollably. She was still talking to him, but his hearing was off—it kept zoning in and out on him. He could vaguely feel her rubbing a hand against his chest, but even that sensation only prickled against his skin. The numbness was finally back, and John sagged into the ground, letting it creep up.

“There are only two Wraith guarding the gate,” Ronon was saying from somewhere behind Teyla. “I can take them out and then we can get Sheppard back to Atlantis.”

John’s hearing suddenly sharpened, and he looked for Ronon.

“We can’t take him through with that bug attached to him,” McKay snapped, like he’d already explained this a dozen times. “We don’t know what effect gate travel will have.”

“He’s barely alive now, McKay. We can’t wait.”

John felt his breath stutter out of his chest, and he coughed lightly. Teyla had been looking behind her, following the same conversation, but now she looked back at John. Her eyes were bright, and her mouth was stretched in a thin line.

“John, hang on. Please, you must hang on just a little bit longer.”

John blinked at Teyla, tracking her with his eyes. The pain was going away, but the numbness was worse. He couldn’t feel his legs or his stomach or his arms. What happened when he couldn’t feel this chest? Would he just stop breathing?

“Maybe we can get a medical team to come here,” McKay said, but his voice was tentative and not very confident.

“This place is crawling with Wraith. We have to act now. Teyla, what do you think?”

Teyla looked back at them, then down at John again. She brushed a hand through his hair, and then his heart stumbled in his chest, and his breath caught on a gasp.

“We cannot wait,” she answered, but she kept her attention on John. She picked him up, and John’s head slumped forward on a rubbery neck to rest against her shoulder. He took a breath, and felt distant muscles tighten around his ribs, his chest bucking when his lungs refused to expand any farther.

“Please, Rodney,” Teyla said, a whisper in John’s ear as she held his shuddering body. “There is no more time. We have no other choice.”

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

“I’d like to say something while I still can,” John said, cringing at the looks of defeat on the faces of his team members.

Elizabeth’s response over the radio was fast and strong and not totally unexpected, and John imagined her standing in the control room, desperately trying to stay on top of the situation. _“Don’t! You’re going to get through this.”_

John almost laughed. “If I was, he wouldn’t have let me go.”

 _“Who wouldn’t have let you go?”_

He suddenly flashed to the planet. He’d been kneeling in the clearing and staring at the remains of the insect’s web. He’d closed his eyes at the surge of pain pumping through him when the insect had first attached itself to him, and then he’d opened his eyes to find one of the drones staring down at him, watching him.

“The Wraith,” he answered. “I guess he saw me as good as dead, because he just walked away.”

The others were silent, watching him and waiting for Elizabeth’s final judgment on the situation.

“So,” John continued, “what I wanted to say was—”

 _“Save your strength, John, and tell me in person.”_

He sighed, irritation warring with panic. He was getting weaker—he could feel it deep down, below the numbness. He had no more strength to save.

“This is important,” he said quietly.

There was a pause over the radio, and John wondered what Elizabeth was thinking. Was she still in the control room? Had she moved to the balcony overlooking the gate room? He imagined her closing her eyes, maybe pinching the bridge of her nose. He felt bad for her, a sudden grief at the burden he was placing on her shoulders. To lose two military commanders the first month of the expedition…

 _“I’m listening.”_

She was strong—all of the expedition members were strong. They’d survive. They’d figure out a way to get to Earth.

Earth.

He hadn’t really let himself think too much about it. It hadn’t been much of a home when he’d left, but the thought of never returning, of never seeing it again, was almost too much to bear. He’d done things and said things he’d regretted, thinking that someday he’d make it up, but now—

“We should send him through the event horizon,” Ford interrupted. “If Doctor McKay figures it out in time, we can fix the major up on the other side. If he doesn’t, we’re all dead anyway.”

“No pressure,” McKay muttered, still messing with the control panel.

John heard the gate technician, Peter Grodin, say something about being in suspended animation and then Beckett interjected, telling them it was too risky.

“Why not?” Ford asked before John could, and with, frankly, much more energy than he had at the moment.

 _“If the creature reacted that violently to a few drops of water,”_ Beckett said, _“who knows how it would react to stargate travel?”_

 _“You’re telling me Major Sheppard can’t come through the gate while that thing is on him?”_ Weir said, echoing John’s own thoughts.

And that pretty much solidified it—he was going to die. It didn’t matter whether McKay figured out how to get them out of the stargate and back home. John wasn’t one to admit defeat easily, but even he had his limits. He took a deep breath and felt the beginning of resistance in his lungs and diaphragm. The numbness was still moving up, still taking over. He was going to die, and then that damn bug would have to let go—there’d be nothing left for it.

Teyla shifted next to him, gripping his arm. “Then we must do something now.”

He blinked, his mind catching onto the tip of an idea. He was going to die and the bug would let him go. It would have to let him go. If he died, the bug would let him go. He glanced from Teyla to Ford, then to the bench directly behind the lieutenant where the piece of medical equipment they’d dismissed at the very beginning lay discarded.

“Hit me with the defibrillator.”

* * *

“Fine, then. I’ll cut it off.”

John heard that clearly, and he opened his eyes to see Ronon walking toward him, a nine-inch knife held in a white-knuckled grip. Ronon’s eyes blazed. John was still leaning against Teyla’s shoulder. He could feel her arms wrapped around him, holding him up, and his chest heaved and stuttered as he breathed.

He was still breathing, though, a little easier even than he had been. He tried to sit up straighter, but nothing responded. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his hand, limp and curled in on itself, resting on a rock next to them. He remembered being able to wiggle his fingers in the cave, even form a weak fist, and he tried to do this again.

Not even a twitch. He took a deep breath again, feeling muscles pressing back against him. The paralysis was worse. His eyes roamed up to Ronon’s, who had squatted down next to him. He was still holding that knife.

“You can’t cut it off!” McKay hissed. Ronon ignored him, reaching toward the bug with the tip of the blade. “We tried that last time he was bit by one of these things. It almost killed him, and he was a lot stronger then.”

McKay was standing off to the side, behind Ronon, and John let his eyes shift over to him. It was the only part of his body he had any remaining control over. The bug jerked and trilled then settled in again. It was now cushioned between his body and Teyla’s.

“Then how did you get it off last time?”

McKay swallowed, looking suddenly like he was going to be sick, and Teyla’s arms wrapped more tightly around John’s chest.

“We had to hit him with the defibrillator,” he answered.

“What’s a defibrillator?”

“It’s a piece of medical equipment. It shocks the heart.” Rodney swallowed, before pressing on. “We had to trick the bug into thinking he was dead, so we shocked his heart to…stop it.”

“You stopped his heart? You killed him?”

John’s heart had started pounding at the first mention of defibrillator. His memory of the actual event was hazy, but his nightmares were always extremely vivid on this point. In reality, he had woken up hours later in the infirmary, his entire body aching and his chest badly bruised. It had taken days for the weakness to finally leave his system, then days after that before he actually felt alive and healthy again. The bite faded a few weeks later. The scar on his neck was still there.

“It was the only way. If we take him through the gate with the bug still attached…we just don’t know what that will do to him. It could kill him—permanently.”

“I know what the risks are, Rodney, but we must go through the gate. I do not know how much longer John will be able to breathe.”

“Sheppard should decide,” Ronon said and he ducked down so that he was at eye level. John felt Ronon’s hand on his head, and he stared back at the runner.

“Sheppard, do you understand me?”

John opened his mouth to answer, or tried to, but nothing happened. His jaw was pressing into Teyla’s shoulder anyway. He couldn’t talk, but he swallowed and tried to nod his head. He had no idea if his head moved or not, but his eyes closed slowly and then opened up again.

Ronon nodded, watching John closely, and seemed to understand John’s response. “We can’t get the bug off, but we need to get you back to Atlantis. We don’t know what going through the gate will do to you or the bug. Do you understand?”

John blinked again, slowly and deliberately.

“Are you willing to risk traveling through the stargate?”

Yes, he was. Absolutely. No questions asked. John let out a shuddering breath and blinked again. Ronon smiled, his normally impassive, emotionless face breaking into something almost gentle, and his hand moved from John’s head to his back. The skin was tingling, almost numb, but John felt the man pat the back of his shoulder.

Home. He was going home. John didn’t know whether he was going to survive or not, but at least if he died, he would die at home among his friends. Ronon stood up and moved around to the other side of Teyla, and together they lifted John up until he was cradled in the runner’s arms in a tight grip.

His chest felt tight, and he could hear a slight wheeze every time he breathed. The rocks and fog began to move around him as they crawled out of the little side trail they’d stopped on.

“We are not far, John,” Teyla whispered in his ear. “Just a few more minutes.”

John could just see Ronon’s blaster wedged between him and the taller man’s hand, pointing forward and ready to fire. Teyla walked in front of them, a little off to the side, her P90 held up. She stared down the barrel sight as she walked, her footsteps silent. John could hear McKay’s feet scraping along the stone behind them, and he imagined the physicist also had his weapon out.

Teyla suddenly froze, and pointed at two spots in the fog in front of them. John couldn’t see anything through the haze, but Teyla raised her weapon, taking careful aim. The Iratus bug twitched, pressing its swollen belly into John’s chest, and John closed his eyes.

The battle lasted less than ten seconds. John heard four shots from Teyla’s P90 and a blast from Ronon’s gun, and then footsteps pounded into the stone around him, echoing and disappearing into the white world. The gate erupted into life—a sound so distinguishable John thought he would never forget it—and then voices were yelling and they were running forward.

John felt the wormhole envelop him and whisk him back to Atlantis. There was a second of warm air blasting his skin and then the Iratus bug arched its back with a high-pitched screech. Pain, agonizing and intense, flooded John’s numb body, and he felt his muscles convulse. Ronon seemed to stumble, and then John felt the smooth floor of Atlantis underneath him, voices screaming in panic all at once, and then nothing.

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

Do it.

That was the last thing he remembered in the jumper. Ford had held the defibrillator pads in his hands fully charged, the fear on his face making him look ten years younger. John had had to yell it at him, half wondering if the lieutenant was actually going to follow his orders.

Do it.

Then Ford had pressed the paddles up against his bare chest, and the bug had started moving around in his neck again, igniting a sharp ache. The gel on the paddles had been cold, the metal plates of the paddles themselves even colder, and John had wondered if it was going to hurt. And if he’d wake up again.

He’d had to yell it. To convince himself as much as to convince Ford.

Do it.

He had heard the whine of the machine as it had charged, as the electricity had built up in the tiny box, and he’d closed his eyes a split second before Ford had pressed the paddles a little harder into his chest and unleashed the current.

For months afterward, he dreamed of that exact moment even though there was no possible way he could have actually remembered it—the pain of the current ripping through his chest, burning the flesh and muscles in its way, wrapping around his heart and crushing the organ until there was nothing left. His mind rebuilt the images his team had described of the scene and he hovered over them, watching Teyla pulling the Iratus bug off of him and Ford shooting it all while blood dripped out of the gaping wound on his neck, and his body slumped against the back of the jumper pale and lifeless.

The dream would jump then, and he’d see Beckett leaning over him, pumping his chest and forcing air into his lungs and pushing those paddles into his ribs. His body would jerk and seize as the current ripped through him, and he’d whisper, “Do it!” and Beckett would, again and again and again.

OoooOoooOoooOoooOoooO

“Oh hey, Teyla, you’re back. With dessert.”

“Yes, Rodney. They would not permit me to take more than three pieces of brownie.”

“Did you tell them you were getting food for other people?”

“For three people, which is why they gave me three desserts. I did not press them on the issue.”

John heard the voices going back and forth above his head and was content for the moment to just listen. The chatter was easy and relaxed, about nothing and yet, about everything. He hadn’t heard his team talk like that since they’d lost Ford, and it felt good.

“How is Colonel Sheppard?”

“Same,” he heard Ronon’s gruff voice answer. “But Doctor Beckett says he’s getting stronger. He thinks he might wake up soon.”

“Well, don’t bet any money on that. It’s not like medicine is actual science—there are no predictable outcomes.”

John smiled, or thought he did. His body felt numb and heavy, like he was on serious painkillers.

“McKay has a picture of K2.”

There was a pause, and John heard paper rustling and the sound of a chair sliding forward, then Teyla’s voice.

“This is the mountain John spoke of? It is beautiful.”

An image flashed through this mind—a silver peak against brilliant blue, wind whipping up snow at the tip like curling smoke. John could almost feel the cold air biting into him, the wind pumping through his veins and spurring him on. It had been a long time since he’d done any mountain climbing. He suddenly wanted to feel cold rock in his hands molding to his fingers as he scaled the side, the thrill of hanging in the air with nothing but a rope between you and gravity, the exhausted satisfaction of trembling muscles when you finally reached the summit.

“What of the other one? In…Africa?”

“Kilimanjaro. Haven’t found a picture of that one yet.”

His mind shifted, and another, older image appeared, that of a distant, snowy, flat-topped mountain. This one was brown rather than silver, the slope to the summit less steep than K2, with a jungle of trees around the bottom.

Kilimanjaro.

In almost all the pictures he’d seen, there were herds of elephants or giraffes or gazelles at the bottom, grazing at the foot of the slope. In his mind the wind was blowing here too, but it was warm and welcoming. He held lists of supplies, plans and preparations for every mountain he’d ever wanted to ascend, in his hands. The wind blew again, soft and warm but strong enough to rip the papers out of his fingers. He spun around and watched them disappear into the jungle, little white specks that receded to nothing.

John turned back toward Mount Kilimanjaro, wide as all the world, the flat summit bright in the sun. The wind reached out for him, calling his name and beckoning him onward, then rushed past him into the dark wilderness at his back, taking with it all the hazards of every mountain peak he’d ever faced.

“I think he blinked,” McKay crowed, and the images of the mountains crumbled against the voice that had to be no more than a few inches from his ear.

“He definitely blinked that time, McKay. Back off a little.”

The voice was quieter, but still close to his ear. “Excuse me, Conan,” McKay muttered.

“John? Are you wake?” Teyla’s voice floated over him, soft and calm.

“I’ll get Beckett.”

“Wake up, Sheppard.”

John forced his eyes open and blinked a few times, slowly focusing on the Atlantis ceiling above him.

He’d made it. They’d all made it. John wanted to look down at his neck and chest, to see for himself that the Iratus bug was gone, but his body refused to react to him. He blinked his eyes again, slowly, to make sure he was actually awake, and Teyla’s face appeared above him.

She smiled, the lines around her eyes etched with exhaustion. She reached a hand out to brush back a lock of hair from his forehead. Again, John tried to move to intercept her hand, but he could do nothing more than follow her movements with his eyes.

“We were very worried, John. It is good to see you awake.”

John tried to speak to assure them he was fine, but the only reaction he got was a tightening of the muscles in his chest. His mouth and throat remained stubbornly closed, and he realized he had no idea if he was fine. There was no pain, but there was not much of anything. His entire body felt muted and distant, reminding him all too much of when the Iratus bug had been attached to him and pumping him full of that paralyzing toxin.

McKay’s face appeared in front of him, battling for space with Teyla’s. “You’ve got quite the hickey—again—but Carson says you’ll recover eventually.”

John’s eyes darted from one face to the other, a hundred questions running through his mind. The last thing he remembered was running through the gate. Ronon was nowhere to be seen, but he’d heard his voice before. They were home, they were all okay—or going to be okay—but what the hell had happened?

McKay glanced at Teyla, who nodded and sat down, disappearing from sight for a moment. A second later, John could just barely feel her hand on his face, turning his head toward her.

“We made it through the stargate, but the Iratus bug did not respond well to gate travel—”

“That’s putting it mildly,” McKay interrupted from somewhere off to John’s side. Teyla frowned at him, then continued on.

“Doctor Beckett was correct regarding his predictions of the creature’s reaction to traveling through the stargate. As soon as we emerged in Atlantis, the insect—”

“Completely. Freaked. Out. And so did you, by the way.”

“Rodney.”

“Sorry.”

“The insect flooded your body with its toxin—”

“You went into massive convulsions, then the bug detached itself and limped off, swaying like a drunk for a few feet before Ronon incinerated it with that gun of his. You, in the meantime, died. And by died, I mean no heartbeat, no breathing, nothing—completely dead.”

Teyla sighed, closing her eyes for a moment, but John couldn’t tell if it was from McKay’s continuous interruptions or from the memory his words had conjured. John searched her face, wishing he could do or say something to take away the memories of what had happened to all of them.

His body was mostly numb, but the tingling kind of numb from staying outside in the cold too long. He could feel his body, but it took awhile for his mind to catch on and to realize that the sheet against his leg was resting against _his leg_ , that the warm hand on his arm kept squeezing _his arm._ He slowly became aware of something pulling at his lip, then felt a plastic tube pressing against his tongue. Awareness of a steady beeping belonging to his heartbeat came next, then the whoosh of a ventilator that sounded in time with the rise and fall of his chest.

“But we got you back, lad,” a new voice announced. Teyla stood up, and Carson Beckett took her place. The doctor’s hands reached for John’s face and throat, and John could just feel the ghost of fingertips pressing against his skin.

“I’ll admit you gave us a bad fright. You had so much of that toxin in your system I didn’t think we’d ever get your heart started again, but we did, and the latest blood tests show it’s slowly leaving your bloodstream. Are you in any pain?”

John blinked, and the ventilator pumped air into his lungs. Pain? He couldn’t feel anything.

“Blink once for yes and twice for no,” Beckett continued.

John forced his eyes closed twice, and the doctor smiled.

“That’s good. You’re covered in cuts and bruised from your two tumbles into that ravine, but nothing that won’t heal up in a few days. The wound on your neck was pretty deep this time around, but that too will heal.”

Images raced through John’s mind, carrying with them a thousand questions each. He saw the rugged, foggy world, the weird animal in the trees, the ravine he’d thought he could so easily climb out of, then the bug—the creature that had plagued his nightmares for months after the first incident. He’d thought he was just about over it, hadn’t even thought about those things in almost two months, and then it happened again.

John wanted to scream. He wanted to thrash and cry and throw his body to the floor, rip the creature that had latched onto his neck and dug its head and pincers into his flesh. He wanted to incinerate the thing with Ronon’s gun—then tear it to pieces with his bare hands and stomp on it with his boots. Then maybe crawl into the back of his closet and cry like he hadn’t done since he was six years old.

But his heart beat on steadily, the rhythmic beeping never wavering. His arm rested limply against whoever was holding it—Teyla, he hoped—and his chest rose and fell slowly and in time with the machines all around him. He couldn’t scream, he couldn’t cuss out the world, he couldn’t panic or cry, and that lack of movement, that numbness that stopped all reaction was almost as bad as the bug itself.

“Since you’re awake and not fighting the vent at all, the toxin must still have a stranglehold on most of your muscles,” Carson said, oblivious to the war waging in John’s head. “As soon as you’re able to breathe on your own, we’ll get that intrusive tube out, I promise.”

John blinked, and the doctor smiled again before patting him on the shoulder. “Get some rest, John.” He glanced up at the others standing around the bed. “Don’t keep him up long. Visiting hours are over in thirty minutes anyway.”

A second later, he was gone, and John was left staring out at the empty space to his left. He could see machines crowded around the head of the bed, then a privacy screen behind them that seemed to be drawn all around him. He heard scraping sounds nearby and knew his team was still there, but he couldn’t move his head to look at them.

Ronon sat down, sprawling in the chair vacated first by Teyla and then by Carson. He held the piece of paper in his hands up to John’s face, and John saw the silvery white peak of K2.

“McKay had it. Think he cut it out of a book.”

“Not a book—National Geographic. Everyone cuts pictures out of National Geographic.”

Ronon kept looking at John, ignoring McKay and finally letting the picture drop to his lap and out of sight. He stared into John’s eyes, and John wondered if the man could look right into his mind, if he could see the panic and anger and despair battling each other out.

He didn’t know this man, not really, but the green eyes staring back at him were alive with energy, and John knew the man was fighting his own internal demons. After everything he’d seen and been through in the last seven years, he had to have had a few screaming nightmares.

“Impressive mountain, this K2. What did you call it? Savage Mountain?”

John blinked _yes,_ and Ronon slouched back in his chair. He kept his eyes on John, though, as if he was willing him to look deeper. They were bright—happy and sad, tense and relaxed, hopeful and despairing all at the same time. The eyes said it all.

Ronon really was impressed with K2. John wanted to smile but had to settle for his lip twitching against the ventilator tube. His chest rose and fell, his heart beat on. He could hear McKay eating the brownie and Teyla making little clucking noises in disgust.

K2—the second highest peak on Earth. The Savage Mountain. Did this world have its version of K2? John knew there was a significant mountain range somewhere in the southern hemisphere, but he hadn’t looked into it too closely. Every place had its high summit, its ultimate challenges. McKay would balk at the idea of climbing any mountain. Teyla he wasn’t sure about. She could certainly handle it physically, but he didn’t know if she’d actually want to do something like that.

Ronon seemed to read his every thought. He suddenly leaned forward, staring intently at Sheppard’s face and breaking out into a wild grin. He brought the picture of K2 up again and tapped it with his finger.

 _Oh, yeah. Ronon was definitely a mountain climber._

END


End file.
